"Bang Bang...!"

An elderly gunner adjusts the angle of fire and flattens the Tiger Squat gun with the gun carriage added. A shower of lead flew from under the city, and several of them flew over the battlements and hit the gunner's chest.

Another gunner immediately came up to take over, and as soon as he adjusted the angle, he ran to the front of the muzzle to press in the gunpowder and shells, but the second row of guns came again--- and the bird-gunners below did not fire a single suppressive salvo, but divided into multiple rows to shoot in turn!

"Master...!" A new gunner, who had been in the artillery team for less than a year, shouted. The two veterans who had just died taught themselves on weekdays, and taught the "secrets that are not passed on" to those junior high school mathematics levels, and this level of knowledge inheritance has made him grateful to Dade when he was a recruit preparing to sit on the cold bench for a few years as a service soldier.

Grief and indignation returned to grief and indignation, he still picked up the ammunition scattered on the ground and crawled into the muzzle. The lead that flew up from the city shattered the bricks, and the debris hit his face with pain. The iron ball rolled a few times, rubbing against the rough inner wall and stuck in the middle of the barrel.

"Put!" After beating a row of bird guns, the Qing army dragged the bird guns to the back and poured out the residue to reload. The Qing army in the back set up the bird guns in front of the fire gun rack, and roughly aimed at the direction of the tiger squat cannon with Wangshan.

White smoke puffed out of the wrought iron pipe, and a puff of lead fell on the city, and a small flower of blood appeared on the city.

Seeing that there was no longer a figure shaking, the Qing army pressed forward under the waving banner, the bird-fired soldiers marched slowly forward in four columns, and the melee infantry rushed like a skirmisher.

Listening to the increasingly dense footsteps under the city, the gunner didn't care about the angle or anything, he didn't know where to find a tong, and stabbed the iron ball into it at the risk of being shot in the head.

Suddenly, there was a familiar burst of gunpowder above the city, snoring and dull, with the sound of headphones that had been boiling for thousands of hours. Anyone who has been through a few battles is used to this sound.

But how could this sound be so close! If they had known the word bayonet on artillery, they would have described it with exclamation.

Even if the Qing army was all illiterate, a few months of combat experience in the previous year made them understand that artillery (general artillery, etc.) is for siege cities, and this is not used in field battles, and artillery cannot be hit within a few dozen steps. Haven't all the small cannons been disposed of? Why is it that all of a sudden, at this distance, a cannon suddenly pops up?

Compared with those big-headed soldiers, the assistant commander who went into battle in person thought about it for a while and then was dumbfounded: artillery is a treasure in both the Qing army and the Ming army, who is willing to put the artillery more than a dozen steps away to die?

"Are the Ming dogs crazy?"

The things fired by the tiger squat cannon are tired of grape shells, but they are far less powerful, and they can only be heard when they wear armor. This time, even the green battalion soldiers wore iron armor, this gadget weighing dozens of pounds, but it can set off a fireworks, right?

"Poof...!" Before the pupils of the Qing army turned in the right direction, a few orcs who rushed to the front fell to the ground with a bang, and they didn't know what kind of gadget they smashed the iron armor on their chests into it, causing them to spit out a mouthful of blood.

Seeing the cannonballs crying and calling for their mothers, the gunners on the city wall showed a relieved smile. These shells were not the standard trolls and stone shells of the Franc machine in the army, but the experimental five-coin small iron balls proposed by the two masters, but they died on the city wall before they could be popularized...

Because of the urgency of the matter, the Tiger Squat Cannon was loaded with 1.5 times the amount of gunpowder and the same amount of shells at the risk of exploding. Barely managed to shoot this shot, and this cannon could no longer be used. Looking at the tiger squat cannon beside him that showed many cracks, he planned to do one last thing.

"Master... I can't protect you with my body, and I can't repay you in this life... I had to chase the two of them first, and let the Tartars bury the master! ”

The body is suffering from the pain of piercing the heart, but the brain is getting clearer and clearer; He didn't dare to show his head, so he put his ear to the base of the wall and listened to the sound of the ladder below.

Estimating that the Tartar was about to climb up, he gritted his teeth, burning his extraordinarily strong arm strength as a gunner to carry the cannonballs, and actually lifted the entire tiger squat cannon!

Before the Qing army could react, this smoking, smoky wrought iron pipe weighing thirty-six pounds rolled down the ladder!

The ladder was smashed, creaking and breaking over, and the rolling iron rod smashed on the leg bones of the climber, and the Qing troops around the ladder were more or less killed: the heavy ones lost their feet, and the light ones also broke their skin and bled and burned their skin. The pain of losing both feet and the cries of burning skin from the burning barrel of the cannon filled the gunner's ears.

Looking at the tragic situation under the ladder, the gunner realized that he was not dead.

"What about the Tartars' birds?"

At this moment, a dissatisfied sentry rushed up on each side of the wall, some of whom had obviously been improvised call-up, and both sides looked at the ranks dressed in the same clothes and stared widely: What about the enemy?

The two sentinels looked at the battlements in the middle, the soldier huddled in blood, the gunpowder piled up on the side soaked in blood...

"Healer, healer...!"

Another day passed, and the Ming army on the wall still held the city wall. In a dilapidated house a few miles away, the envoy and his party were trembling and hiding in the house.

"The general is really a strong general under the command of the prince!" Seeing the old sentry's divine moves, he led a few people around the sentry posts between the barracks and ran to the front line, and the messenger who was Zheng Xi's henchman gave a thumbs up.

Hearing that he was called a general, the old sentry was modest, and he did not feel that the envoy was too flattering: if he was to be released to lead troops, it would not be impossible to mix a garrison.

The camping of the Qing army was generally quite tight, but the camping distance between the various departments was wide. This was especially true of the Manchurian soldiers, who ate hardcore crops, far from the meat shield in front.

It was precisely by taking advantage of this that the sentry led everyone to avoid one enemy patrol after another, and came to the battlefield where the Ming army and the Tartars were fighting.

The messenger proposed to rush over directly, but everyone collectively vetoed it. The reason is very simple: even if the Qing army doesn't kill you, the Ming army can beat everyone into a sieve!

"What about flying the white flag?"

"Who knows at a distance of tens of feet, if the Tartars suddenly follow, we will not be able to say anything."

It was getting dark, and the idea of flying a white flag was completely eliminated. Several of them were relatively well-nourished, so there was no problem of night blindness, and they were thinking about how to get through the last part of the journey like Hellfire.

Half of the people who have traveled a hundred miles are ninety, and everyone has reached ninety-nine and seventy-five, if they fall to the last step, who can be willing?

As soon as the watch passed, the old sentry officer handed over the sentry, and he lay down in the haystack and fell asleep. The weapons were all pressed under the straw of their sleep, so that they could wake up and enter the battle as soon as possible.

"Remember to wake me up on the third watch!"

The soldier on duty repeatedly echoed the old sentinel's instructions in his head, grabbed the short blade, touched the handcuff, and then... Poured into the soft straw.